Falling in Love
by Morfiwien Greenleaf
Summary: How does it feel to fall in love, despite one's best efforts to prevent such an inconvenience? A deeper look at the thoughts and perspectives of Harold Hill and Marian Paroo during the events of The Music Man. *1962 version*
1. Trouble

_Disclaimer: I don't own the Music Man or any of its characters; I'm just borrowing them._

"Trouble! Oh we got trouble! Right here in River City…"

Harold Hill beamed as he surveyed the chattering townspeople from his perch on the statue. He especially enjoyed Marcellus' expression of bewildered amazement. His old comrade in chicanery had asserted such a triumph was impossible, but with nothing more than a little fast talking, the great Professor Hill had gotten the full attention of these stubborn, neck-bowed Iowans.

A less-experienced salesman might have tried making his pitch then, but Harold knew there were limits to the number of ideas a man could handle at once. Best not to overwhelm these simple folk with the grandeur of a boys' band too soon – their excitement would burn out before he could even get a finger into their boodle bags. Now that he had gotten the crowd whipped up into a frenzy, Harold would ease up and let the "problem" of a pool table simmer in the River City folks' minds for a day or two like sauce on the stove.

Ah! But what was this? A young woman was marching primly toward them. Who was this lovely creature? Harold glanced at Marcellus, who mimed playing a piano. Harold nodded and returned the gesture with a grin. So this was the maiden librarian! She appeared to be in her early to mid twenties – a lot younger than Harold had expected – and she was quite beautiful, with her honey-blonde ringlets and crimson lips.

Hopping nimbly to the ground, Harold bounded over to the woman, who did not give the slightest indication she had seen his approach. As he followed her home, he laughed to himself to think what a chore he would have had if the mayor's shrewish wife had indeed been the librarian. But as Harold had told Marcellus earlier, he wouldn't have let that stop him. After all, a seller of boys' bands who couldn't read a note had to do something to keep the local music teacher quiet – as pretty or ugly as she may be. Harold would have cozied up to Medusa, if his success had depended on it.

But luck was on his side, this trip. After the homely old Gorgons of the last few towns, it was a downright pleasure to finally hit upon a music teacher who was not only passable, but gorgeous. Professor Hill would seduce this librarian – and he would enjoy it. And so would she, if the ardent declarations of devotion from his past conquests were any indication of his prodigious skill in the art of lovemaking.

Harold stepped in front of the lady and waved his hat. But she moved around him with barely a break in her measured stride. Though he had been rejected, he couldn't help admiring the grace with which she dodged his advances.

He pulled out a pink handkerchief and tried again. "Did you drop your…"

"No," she said icily.

He took her arm as she breezed past him. "Didn't I meet you in…"

"No!"

"I'll only be in town a short while," he said, making one last attempt as she walked up her front steps.

As the librarian entered the house, she turned and glared at him. "Good!" she retorted, slamming the door closed.

Harold shrugged and put on his hat. Marcellus had been right – this was one stuck-up woman. He surveyed her house with a cool eye. In the cramped parlor, which was clearly visible despite the lace curtains covering the windows, a little girl with two long, dark pigtails plunked out a song on an upright piano. As Harold pondered whether or not this was a challenge worth pursuing, a matronly woman opened the parlor window and peered outside.

Not wanting to be caught lollygagging, Harold skedaddled down the street. If the librarian didn't warm to him, surely he could find a more amiable lady somewhere in this provincial little town!


	2. If You Don't Mind My Saying So

Inside the Paroo home, the conversation between mother and daughter grew more and more heated as Marian tried to get her mother to understand the utter ridiculousness of encouraging a common masher. Any self-respecting woman should have higher standards than that! Papa had always told her a woman should never marry a man with whom she could not have a good conversation. Of course, love was important, but when the initial glow faded, a husband and wife had to be able to talk – lest they wring each other's necks.

Marian had faithfully heeded her father's wise advice, and her knowledge of several stories which featured passionate relationships turned sour only firmed her resolve not to settle for just any man who came down the pike. Was it her fault she had not yet found a man who shared her interests sufficiently enough to converse with her? Certainly, there were no such men in River City – like the ladies, they were scandalized that she read such provocative authors as Balzac, Rabelais and Chaucer. So Marian remained unmarried. Why should she surrender her standards?

"I know all about your standards and, if you don't mind my saying so, there's not a man alive who could hope to measure up to that blend of Paul Bunyan, St. Pat and Noah Webster you've concocted for yourself out of your Irish imagination, your Iowa stubbornness and your lib'erry full of books!" Mrs. Paroo concluded in a firm, no-nonsense voice.

"Well, if that isn't the best I ever heard!" Marian bristled. When she had told her mother about the stranger with the suitcase who had followed her home, she expected commiseration, not another lecture about her being unmarried!

Though she didn't know why she should be so surprised her mother turned to this topic; it was all she had talked about since Marian had reached her twenty-sixth year. Marian usually brushed this off as a minor annoyance, but now she saw how truly desperate her mother was for her to marry – she was encouraging her own daughter to jump at a smooth-talking traveling salesman who was after nothing more than a quick fling and a good time!

_I suppose she only wants me to be happy_, Marian reflected as she and Amaryllis sang the old lullaby, "Goodnight, My Someone." _But why can't she realize it's better for a woman to be unhappy and alone than married to a man who could never love or understand her?_

In truth, Marian wasn't exactly unhappy, but lately her life had lost some of its zest. She loved her library – her life's work – but she had to admit the day-to-day filing, organizing and maintenance of the collections had become rather boring. Even the prospect of a new shipment of books expected to arrive next week held little thrill. They were fine works of literature, to be sure, but no doubt someone would find something to complain about – without even having read a single page, no less! Why couldn't these stubborn Iowans broaden their minds just a little bit?

After Amaryllis left, Marian remained seated by the window, gazing at the Evening Star. She had long ago given up hope she would find her "someone," but when the warm summer-evening breeze bathed her cheeks, Marian felt a twinge of the old wistful longing.

Just then, the grinning stranger's face popped into her mind, spoiling her romantic reverie. Marian stood up and slammed the window shut. _Never in a million years!_


	3. Seventy Six Trombones

"Seventy-six trombones hit the counterpoint! While a hundred and ten cornets blazed away. To the rhythm of Harch! Harch! Harch! all the kids began to march…"

Harold Hill took a break from center stage long enough to sidle over to the piano and gauge the librarian's reaction to his song-and-dance routine. From the thundercloud expression on her face, he guessed she hadn't been sold on the idea of a boys' band – though everyone else in River City was clearly thrilled.

Harold grinned and took his place at the head of the townspeople as they marched out of the gymnasium. Last night, the jury was still out on whether he wanted to move forward with his pursuit of the librarian. Now her stony silence had decided him – Marian Paroo was definitely the woman to focus his attentions on while he was in River City. She was proving to be a nice little challenge, and he never could resist a challenge. Harold had never liked easy women – much too boring! In her obstinate refusal to be won over, Miss Paroo had become the toreador who waved a red cape in front of a raging bull.

_You may resist me now, my dear little librarian_, Harold thought as he listened to the crowd sing with gusto, _but we'll see if you won't soon be dancing along behind me – just like everybody else!_


	4. Sincere

"You go ahead, Mama, I'll be there in a minute," Marian told Mrs. Paroo. She knew she was being foolish, but she was too curious not to observe the scene unfolding at the entrance of Madison Park. So this was the man who had tried to flirt with her the other evening: "Professor" Harold Hill, fly-by-night salesman extraordinaire!

Though this Harold Hill person did not impress her a single whit, he had enthralled the entire town – and with nothing more than grand words and empty promises! Now he had gotten the cantankerous members of the school board to put aside fifteen years of feuding in order to harmonize in a lovely barbershop quartet. Absurdly enough, he had accomplished this mind-boggling feat with nothing but a pitch pipe, the word _ice cream_, and the preposterous declaration that singing was nothing more than sustained talking! Marian didn't know whether to be amused or appalled by such audacity.

"How can there be any 'sin' in sincere? Where is the 'good' in goodbye?" they sang. Jacey Squires struggled with his pitch at first, but after a little experimentation, he fell into perfect harmony with the other three men.

Marian knew she should leave, but she felt herself drawn in by the gentlemen's heartfelt singing. Their voices really were quite charming…

"Your apprehensions confuse me, dear."

Oh dear, the salesman had spotted her! Before Marian could make herself scarce, Harold Hill had taken her by the hand and accosted her once again. Marian pulled out of his grip at once and strolled off. Though Mrs. Shinn and the other ladies gazed admiringly at the man, it would take more than simplistic musical tricks to enchant her!


	5. Sincere, Part 2

Marian Paroo had spurned him yet again, but Harold Hill wasn't about to let a little thing like that stop him. He had seen her amazement at the school board's discovery of their newfound talent – though she tried to hide her true feelings beneath a veneer of polite interest.

Rubbing his hands together with glee, Harold left the gentlemen crooning to their hearts' content as the fireworks display entitled "The Last Days of Pompeii" – or as the mayor had said in his mangled speech, _pomp-ee-aye_ – burst into life in the evening sky.

It wasn't long before Harold had caught up to the librarian. "I don't suppose you live alone or anything…"

Miss Paroo avoided him with her easy grace. "No."

"I have some wonderful caramels over at the hotel…"

He saw by the aghast look on her face that he had been a little too forward. "Mr. Hill!" she exclaimed, scandalized.

"Oh – please, please…" Harold contritely removed his hat. Had Miss Paroo's expression softened one iota, he would have invited her to address him by his Christian name. Since she merely surveyed him with a cold look, he grinned and said, "_Professor_ Hill."

She did not even hesitate in her response. "Professor? Of what?"

Harold was amazed – and slightly disappointed, if truth be told – that his admonishment did not produce the desired effect of disconcertment. Most women would have been thrown off balance by such a ploy, but now it was Harold who struggled to regain his footing. He raised a hand and started to speak, but she blustered on. "At what college do they give a degree for accosting women like a Saturday-night rowdy at a public dance hall?"

Again, Harold couldn't help but admire Miss Paroo's tenacity. There were not many people – let alone women – who could keep such a clear head around him when he turned on the charm. Yet she stood there, haughty as a queen, and denounced him with blazing eyes.

Harold knew he had lost this battle, but still, he soldiered on. "Well, I wouldn't know about that. I'm a conservatory man myself – Gary, Indiana, Gold Medal Class of Aught-Five."

Not unexpectedly, Miss Paroo was unmoved. "Even should that happen to be true, _Mister_ Hill, I am not as easily mesmerized as some of the people in this town, and I think it only fair to tell you that I am not impressed by your credentials, which I have not seen, nor your manners, which I have!"

She left him, and this time, he let her go. Actually, he was a bit stunned – he couldn't remember the last time a woman had so completely rejected his advances.

All in all, it had not been one of his more successful evenings. Mrs. Shinn had shunned his friendly greeting, and though she had warmed up a bit when he smoothed things over between the members of the school board, he still sensed her wariness. Adding to that Miss Paroo's outright dismissal – it was almost enough to make a fellow throw in the towel.

Most men would have given up at this point, but not Harold Hill. Miss Paroo's constant refusals were becoming tiresome, but they only made Harold more determined to break through her prickly exterior. Besides, it was imperative to win her over – a skeptical music teacher could do a lot of damage to his fledgling reputation.

Harold paused for a moment and analyzed the situation. Clearly, the direct approach wasn't going to work with Marian Paroo – it was going to take a lot more than sweet talk to get into the librarian's good books. If she refused to be swayed by charm, he'd have to figure out another method to worm his way into her heart.

And figure it out he would – his success in River City depended on it. Whistling cheerfully, Harold put his hat back on his head and set off across Madison Park.


	6. Marian the Librarian

Harold suppressed a triumphant laugh as the River City biddies sauntered away into the evening, now that they had unloaded their bit of gossip. No wonder he had failed so spectacularly with Miss Paroo – he had been approaching the situation entirely the wrong way! Erroneously, he had taken her to be a naïve young woman who would be receptive to the attentions of a handsome stranger.

Harold could have kicked himself for his miscalculation – of course a woman who had been taken in before would be distrusting of men, especially men who tried to charm her! As the old expression went, "Once bitten, twice shy."

Now that he had learned of Miss Paroo's past history, he knew exactly how to approach her. She was no blushing rose, as he had originally thought. Even better – she was the sadder-but-wiser girl, which was a special favorite of Harold's. Sadder-but-wiser girls were experienced enough to be good lovers, yet realistic enough not to expect too much from a traveling salesman. Harold had really hit the jackpot with Marian Paroo. Really, was there no end to the delightful things about this woman?

After heartily rebuffing Marcellus' attempt to set him up with a wide-eyed, eager, wholesome, innocent Sunday-school teacher – the type of woman he most despised courting – Harold made a beeline for the library. As soon he had arrived, he assured Marian he knew everything and that her past didn't bother him in the least. Then he confessed his love for her. That was the way to win over such women! This approach had never failed Harold before – even the most jaded woman couldn't help being flattered by such simple, heartfelt declarations.

Still, he wasn't surprised when Miss Paroo resisted him. In fact, he expected her to be standoffish – the sadder-but-wiser girl didn't surrender herself too easily. But after a few moments had passed, Harold could tell he was finally wearing her down.

"Now in the moonlight, a man could sing it…" Harold glanced to his left and saw Zaneeta and Tommy grinning at him over the cover of _Romeo and Juliet_. He immediately motioned for them to disappear behind their book. Though Harold usually gloried in the attention of an audience, seduction was one instance he preferred privacy.

"In the moonlight" – he gently lifted Marian's downcast face until their eyes had locked – "And a fellow would know that his darling had heard every word of his song, with the moonlight helping along…"

The ice in Marian's eyes melted and her beautiful features softened into the dreamy expression of infatuation Harold knew all too well. He had won over Marian Paroo at last! Perhaps the smart thing to do would have been to back down and leave her wanting more, but Harold was so eager to claim his prize he leaned in to plant a kiss on her waiting mouth.

But just before their lips met, Marian backed away in horror. Damn, he had overplayed his hand! Still, all was not lost. Instead of ordering him out of the library, Marian pushed him onto a bench and shoved a book into his hands. Harold stifled a laugh. _Oh, my dear little librarian; you ought to know by now it takes a lot more than that to silence me!_

Before long, Harold had the entire library dancing to his tune, like children prancing around the Pied Piper. With the teens' assistance, Harold swept the librarian up into the whirlwind. Grinning, he gazed at Marian as she tossed her spectacles aside and gamboled around the room merrily as a dance-hall girl.

After he deemed a suitable interval had passed, Harold stealthily took his place as Marian's partner. His timing was perfect – she continued to dance gaily around the library. As Harold had suspected, Marian was a charming dancer. Her innate grace made her made her a natural for the Castle Walk craze currently sweeping the nation. He'd have to show her the new step – well, once he had showed her a few other things first…

It didn't take long for Marian to realize who she was dancing with. Harold looked hopefully at her, but her expression turned from joy to fury. As she marched off in a huff, all dancing came to an end and the teens resumed reading quietly.

Giddy with triumph – however fleeting it had been – Harold chased after her, ignoring the ripple of shushes from the library patrons. "But when I try in here to tell you, dear, I love you madly, madly Madam Librarian…"

He cornered her by the book-return cart on the second-floor balcony. Marian angrily turned to face him, but he was ready for her. Harold tossed her a book, marveling at her excellent reflexes when she caught it and flung it aside. His marshmallow offering was rejected with similar vigor.

Marian really was too tempting, with her flushed cheeks and tousled hair. Even though he knew he would pay dearly for such impudence, Harold leaned in and kissed her. Fortunately, he managed to dodge Marian's slap and escape down the dumbwaiter.

Harold did not stop to catch his breath until he had reached the safety of his hotel room. Though the librarian still despised him, he had gotten her to loosen up – if only for a moment. _Not a bad day's work_, he thought with a smile.


	7. Being in Love

"Gary, Indiana! Not Louisiana, Paris, France, New York, or Rome, but – Gary, Indiana, Gary, Indiana, Gary, Indiana, my home sweet home!"

Marian Paroo scowled as she watched Harold Hill link arms with her mother. Barely two days had passed since the library fiasco. He had caused such a commotion that she was left with no other option but to close twenty minutes early – an act she had never committed in all her years as River City's librarian. Now Mr. Hill was loafing around the Paroo homestead, attempting to ingratiate himself with her mother. Did this man have any shame at all?

After concluding her merry little dance, Mrs. Paroo fell into the laundry basket with a scream.

"Mama!" Marian rushed outside. If he had injured her with his frivolous antics…

The salesman turned to her with a smile. "Well, how-de-do, Miss Paroo?"

"How do you do, Mr. Hill," she replied, her voice polite but cool. Though she wanted nothing more than to give him the smack he so richly deserved, she must not forget her manners.

"Of course! Paroo – I thought the name sounded familiar!" he laughed, as if he had just figured out the connection. "I've been trying to see you since the other night."

_I'm sure you have_, she thought sarcastically. _And you can drop the act, because I'd wager every book in my library that you knew I lived here before you even set one foot on our property!_

"He wants to put Winthrop in the band," Mrs. Paroo explained.

"We're not interested, Mama," Marian said firmly.

"But Marian dear," her mother entreated, "the boy might have his father's musical gift. He does have my gangl'in, you know."

Marian raised an eyebrow. What kind of foolishness had Harold Hill been putting into her mother's head?

"Your husband is musical?" Mr. Hill said eagerly. "Well, I'd like to talk to him!"

Marian had had enough. Courtesy was one thing, but there were limits to what any civilized person should have to endure from unwanted callers. "Do you always burst into peoples' homes, prying into personal affairs? We're not interested!"

But Mr. Hill persisted in that irritatingly chipper manner of his. "Well, there's one for, and one against! Now why not let the boy's father decide?"

Marian gave him a measured look before replying. "The boy's father is dead."

His look of delight faded into a contrite expression. Marian was gratified to see that even Harold Hill had some sense of decency. And she had finally managed to wipe that smug smile off his face! "Anything else?" she challenged.

"Oh I am sorry," he said sincerely – before going right back to his normal spiel. "But that's all the more reason your brother should have something like this!"

"My brother is an unhappy child who can't understand why his father was taken away. Would you care to explain it to him? He's been brooding about it for two years!" Marian snapped, giving voice to the anguish she had nursed since Papa had passed away. "And as for your musical tricks, why don't you go into business with some nice carnival man who sells gold-painted watches and glass diamond rings!"

"Musical tricks?" the salesman exclaimed. "Now, Miss Paroo – "

But she had already banged the screen door shut.

Even from the sanctuary of the kitchen, Marian heard Mr. Hill address her mother. "Do you know I have a feeling she likes the idea? Oh, a little cautious perhaps, but I admire that in a woman…"

Restraining the urge to go outside and shake him by the lapels of his gingham suit, Marian picked up a spoon and vigorously stirred the fudge that had been cooling in a pan on the counter.

After a few moments, Mrs. Paroo entered the room. Marian could tell Harold Hill had worked his magic yet again – her mother spoke of him in far too glowing terms.

"Now, Mama," Marian said, trying to keep her temper, "a girl's future doesn't depend on encouraging every fast-talking, self-centered, woman-chasing traveling man who comes to town!"

"All right, darling, all right," her mother conceded. "Only it's a well known principle that if you keep the flint in one drawer and the steel in the other, you'll never strike much of a fire."

"Mama!" Marian cried, shocked. Did she really expect her own daughter to give herself to a charlatan? Even Ed Griner or Ed Gammidge would have been a better choice!

"A fine-looking man – and educated!" Mrs. Paroo said admiringly. "Gary, Indiana Conservation, Class of Aught-Five."

The librarian stifled the impulse to correct her mother's mispronunciation of Mr. Hill's alma mater. Precise recitation of information that was most likely a lie mattered little. Bracing herself for another unpleasant conversation, Marian reiterated that she was not impressed with Harold Hill's supposed "qualifications." How many times did she have to repeat herself for her mother to be satisfied with her answers?

But even Mrs. Paroo soon grew weary of the subject. She sighed and looked at her daughter. "Marian Paroo, if you don't mind my asking – don't you ever think about being in love?"

Marian's eyes widened. This was a new one! Before, Mama had only talked of marriage. But love – love was a different matter. Of course Marian had thought about being in love! When she was a girl, she had always mooned over someone – the streetcar runner, the principal, the music teacher with the beautiful baritone. But those were just school-girl crushes. As an adult, Marian hadn't ever met a man who inspired such heady feelings. Harold Hill certainly didn't!

Nor did he possess any of the qualities she esteemed: "All I want is a plain man, all I want is a modest man, a quiet man, a gentle man, a straightforward and honest man… and I would like him to be more interested in me than he is in himself… and more interested in 'us' than in me."

And that was why Harold Hill would never make a suitable husband. Despite all the effort he was putting into pursuing her, she knew his ardent declarations of love were cheap as the prize in a box of crackerjack. Still, that nagging little voice whispered: _And if he really did love you that much?_

Marian immediately squelched such a startling thought. "Besides," she reminded her mother, "it's as Papa always said: Never marry a man with whom you cannot have a decent conversation."

"That's all well and good," Mrs. Paroo replied, gazing fondly at her, "but if you don't mind my saying so, darling, it seems to me you've never given any man the chance to talk to you. You just look at him and make up your mind before he can even open his mouth to say hello. And I'm not just talking about Professor Hill."

For once, Marian had no reply.


	8. The Wells Fargo Wagon

The day the Wells Fargo Wagon came to town was the day everything changed for Professor Harold Hill. For Winthrop's burst of joy over his shiny new cornet, Marian Paroo had given Harold her first real smile.

Such an occurrence could be considered a miracle, especially considering their recent stormy interlude on her back porch. Most men would have deemed such an encounter to be nothing more than the latest failure in a long line of failures, but not Harold. For him, Marian's fury had parted the Red Sea and showed him the path to the Promised Land. If Harold could make her brother happy, he would gain her admiration and respect. And such feelings could be prodded into affection, if he played his cards right.

So when the Wells Fargo Wagon arrived at River City, Harold made sure Winthrop was the first to receive his instrument. True, he had gotten sprayed in the face when the boy expressed his gratitude, but it had been worth it to see Marian's eyes glowing with happiness.

_That is – glowing with happiness over me_, Harold corrected himself. It was hard not to grow a little sentimental when a pretty woman started to fall in love with him, but he'd better nip that inclination in the bud – or else he'd be the one who was hooked!


	9. The Candy Kitchen

Harold uncovered Zaneeta's and Tommy's eyes and paid the soda jerk. "If there's anything you don't see there, you be sure and ask for it."

Harold grinned as the teens dug into their sundaes. There was nothing that warmed his degenerate heart more than seeing young love in bloom. Tommy and Zaneeta were swell kids: guileless, friendly, and naïve enough to look up to him as a father figure.

Even though Harold shied away from long-term romantic entanglements, he did take pleasure in playing Cupid when the opportunity presented itself. Every town had its teenage Romeo and Juliet, and Harold was exceptionally good at picking them out of the crowd. Even if it was true that he never lived up to his promises of establishing a boys' band, couldn't such sins be tempered by the sheer number of young people who owed their connubial bliss to his skillful matchmaking?

Of course, Harold's motives were not born purely of altruism. He knew very well that Tommy and Zaneeta were the acknowledged leaders of their peers – if the town's king and queen bee were too busy buzzing around romance's honey pot, they would be less likely to catch on to him.

So naturally, Harold encouraged their relationship as much as possible. While stopping by the gymnasium earlier that day, he had come across Tommy and Zaneeta in the midst of a whispered argument – Tommy wanted to escort her to the Candy Kitchen after band practice, but she balked at being seen with him in such a public place. Harold had inserted himself into the conversation with his usual unabashed aplomb, insisting that he must be allowed to treat them to the refreshment of their choice, as his personal thank you for their tireless efforts in promoting the boys' band.

Just when Harold had gotten the teens settled, who should walk into the Candy Kitchen but Marian Paroo! While he was delighted to see her, he was not surprised. When he had extended his invitation to Tommy and Zaneeta, the librarian had been sitting a few feet away, arranging sheet music for the Ladies' Dance Committee's debut performance. All Harold had to do was make sure he said the time and place loud enough for her to hear, and there he had it! Not only had Miss Paroo closed the library on a weekday afternoon, she had exchanged her modest work dress for a dazzling blue-and-white ensemble with matching hat.

Harold took note of Miss Paroo's ladylike bearing. She sat on the stool with perfect posture, hands demurely folded on the countertop, eyes innocently facing front. Certainly, no one could fault her for lack of poise. But the small smile that curved those kissable crimson lips gave her away. Marian Paroo might behave as if she only came to the Candy Kitchen on a whim, but Harold knew she craved more than a strawberry phosphate.

_Let the games begin_, he thought as he walked over to her.

She acted pleasantly surprised when he made his presence known. "Oh – Professor Hill! I didn't see you."

"May I join you?" he asked, giving her a wry grin. So the sadder-but-wiser girl had decided to play the role of bright-eyed, blushing, breathless, baby-doll baby! But Harold was not turned off – he found her coyness captivating. At any rate, it was a pleasant change from her earlier attitude of contemptuous disdain.

But their pleasant tête-à-tête was interrupted when Mayor Shinn unceremoniously burst through the doors of the Candy Kitchen, followed by a harried-looking Mrs. Shinn. "Where – where? They were seen!" the mayor blustered, his gaze falling on the hapless teens. "Red handed – caught in the act! Take your hands off my daughter!"

"Papa!" Zaneeta scolded.

As Tommy Djilas bravely stood up to the angry mayor, Harold watched the scene with concern. Mayor Shinn was much too hard on the poor boy – despite being from the wrong side of town, Tommy really was a good kid. And who better than Harold could recognize a good kid when he saw one?

Harold also recognized when it was time to talk, and when it was time to shut up. As Tommy opened his mouth to protest Mayor Shinn's denigration of the professor who had given new direction to his once aimless life, Harold motioned for the boy to keep quiet. It would do neither of them any good for Tommy to drag him into this argument. Besides, the great Professor Hill had been called a lot worse than "spellbinding cymbal salesman!"

Amazingly enough, it was Marian who spoke up. After the mayor had chased Tommy out of the emporium and ordered his daughter to go home, the librarian confronted him. "Mayor Shinn! If I could just make you understand – "

Harold had intended to remain silent, but when Mayor Shinn started to upbraid Marian, he found himself leaping to her defense. "Mr. Mayor, if you please – "

"I'll settle your hash as soon as I get these premises off my oldest girl," he harrumphed, and then paused to consider his words. "… Yes."

"All right, but in the meantime I'd like you to know that I'm vouching for Tommy Djilas," Harold asserted. "Why, that boy has the confidence of every kid in this town! You'll be standing in line waiting to shake his hand by the time our band plays its first concert." Miss Paroo's triumphant expression and Zaneeta's trusting smile almost made him wish he was telling the truth.

"I think Mayor Shinn behaved abominably!" Marian declared to Harold once the mayor had vacated the premises. "And I think it was wonderful of you for sticking up for Tommy Djilas the way you did."

"Oh, that was nothing," Harold demurred, gesturing for the soda jerk to bring him what Marian was having.

"Yes, it was," she insisted.

"Well, a man can't go back on his principles merely because a little personal risk is involved," Harold said with conviction. "What does the poet say? 'A coward dies a thousand deaths, a brave man… only five hundred.'"

Marian smiled. "Something like that," she agreed.

Though Harold had been amused and enticed by the librarian's indignant reaction to his earlier flirtation, he found himself enjoying this newfound sense of quiet camaraderie between them. When his strawberry phosphate arrived, he reflected this was turning out to be quite the pleasant afternoon.

But he didn't dare relax too much around Marian – especially when she started asking questions about Winthrop's new cornet and the "think system." Harold's guard went up, and he reverted to his usual salesman routine. "I admit it's still in the experimental stages and – well, I suppose to a seasoned professional like yourself, it may seem ludicrous – "

"Oh, you mustn't say that!" she entreated.

Her impassioned response was so unexpected that Harold completely lost track of what he was about to say. He turned to face her, unable to hide his astonishment. "I mustn't?"

"No," she said firmly. "Why, throughout history the true originator is always laughed at! I hope you don't class me with those small minds who ridicule – " She paused.

Her hesitation gave Harold just the opening he needed to recover himself. "Galileo," he suggested.

"Yes, and his conception of the heavens," she said with a satisfied nod.

"Or Fulton," he prodded, urging her on.

"Yes – or Columbus," she returned.

"And his conception of the egg – uh, globe," Harold stammered. Really, what was the matter with him? He couldn't remember the last time he had tripped over his tongue like this. If he wasn't careful, he'd end up talking in spoonerisms like Mayor Shinn.

Thankfully, Marian didn't seem to notice his error. "The one thing one must remember, no matter who one is or what one is working for: One can do anything if one puts one's mind to it," she said as she retrieved her purse.

"Miss Marian, if one could only tell you how much you've done for one," Harold said warmly. For weeks he had garnered nothing but resolute skepticism and harsh insults from the librarian; to hear her argue so keenly on his behalf was tremendously refreshing. He returned Marian's coin to her purse and took her hand in his. "I would deem it a great privilege to talk with you again. May one call upon you some evening?"

She smiled shyly. "Any night this week."

Once the librarian had gone, Harold surveyed all the refreshments he had paid for that afternoon. Marian's glass of strawberry phosphate was nearly full, and Tommy and Zaneeta's uneaten sundaes had melted in their dishes. With a resigned sigh, Harold calculated he had lost a good sixty cents.

But then he recalled Marian's last, lingering glance backward, and suddenly, his lighter pockets no longer seemed to matter that much.


	10. Will I Ever Tell You?

Except for the occasional errand, Marian Paroo's path through River City had always been one of unending repetition – from home to library in the morning, then home for lunch and to help Mama with chores, then back to the library until late in the evening, then home again. She knew every crack and cranny of the street connecting the two buildings. As she put one foot in front of the other, she sometimes fancied she could see a rut in the pavement – a rut that deepened each time she made the journey, each time another year passed. And she was fated to walk back and forth in that rut until she died.

But one night, a handsome stranger had boldly stepped in front of her, making her alter her course. And then gradually, as she let more light and laughter into her heart, the rut in the road disappeared. Marian's travels had broadened to include many places – the Candy Kitchen, the gymnasium, the homes of friends and acquaintances. Everywhere she went, she was conscious of the thrilling possibility that Professor Hill was likely to be out and about as well, and that their paths might cross.

Marian Paroo never would have believed it possible, but she was in love with Harold Hill. Professor Hill had been in River City for almost a month, and he was still same charming, deceitful, fast-talking, woman-chasing salesman that he had been when he had stepped off the train. But the things he had accomplished! Single-handedly, he had gotten the school board to patch up a feud that was so old no one could say exactly how or why it began, saved Tommy Djilas from a life of aimless dissolution by channeling his considerable energy and talents into more constructive pursuits, and given every child – especially her dear brother Winthrop – something to hope and dream and get excited about.

And Harold showed Marian how truly lonely she had been. When she and her family had moved to River City, Marian had gotten off on the wrong foot with her peers, and never recovered. So she eked out a solitary existence on the edge of the crowd. When the other women snubbed and looked down upon her, she had buried her hurt feelings, telling herself they weren't worth associating with, anyway. She had almost believed this – until Harold Hill came to town. Undoubtedly, he received the same cool reception as she had, but he never let that discourage him. In that adroit way of his, he had turned the taciturn, aloof River City-ziens into friends and allies. Harold Hill, with his irrepressible charm and enthusiasm for living, had reminded her how empty her own existence was. Perhaps that was why she had loathed him so much at first.

But Marian could no longer hate Harold when she saw Winthrop's unrestrained delight over his brand-new cornet. Thanks to Professor Hill, her brother not only relinquished the depression he had stubbornly clung to since Papa died, he also overcame his self-consciousness about his lisp. These days, Winthrop prattled along as merrily as any other child.

Marian had been able to dismiss the change Harold had wrought in the cantankerous school board, the suspicious Mrs. Shinn and her ladies, and the mischievous Tommy Djilas, but she could not ignore Winthrop's transformation. She finally had to admit what that little nagging voice had been trying to tell her since the night Harold stirred things up in her library – even if he was an impostor, a man who could leave that much happiness in his wake had to have some good in him. Heeding her mother's advice, Marian had gone to the Candy Kitchen to have a conversation with Harold. She hadn't meant to be such a shrinking violet when he greeted her, but having abandoned her tendency to make cutting remarks, she no longer knew how she should behave around him.

But after the flurry and fuss caused by Mayor Shinn died down, Marian had discovered the ease and delight of conversing with Professor Hill. He was intelligent, well read, and had a wonderfully playful sense of humor – as he had demonstrated by turning one of Shakespeare's famous quotes into a charming little jest. When Harold had asked for permission to call on her, she realized that he was the man she had been waiting for, the "him I could love 'till I die."

It was a shame Marian could never tell Harold these things. Even though she allowed herself the luxury of daydreams in which she confessed her feelings, she was not foolish enough to hope they were reciprocated. Certainly, Harold was attracted to her – as evidenced by the great lengths to which he had gone to gain her friendship – but love was too much to ask of a traveling salesman. Harold would eventually leave River City, just as sure as the long, lovely summer days would fade into the dark, bitter cold of winter.

But Marian knew that even after he had gone, the positive impact he had made on her life would remain. Thanks to Harold, Mrs. Shinn and her circle overcame their horror of Chaucer, Rabelais and Balzac, and were now enthusiastic library patrons. He had also somehow managed to banish the specter of Marian's association with the late Mr. Madison from the townspeople's minds – they greeted her with warm smiles instead of suspicious looks. In the past, when Marian's expertise in literature or music was required for some activity, she was grudgingly asked to lend her participation and shunted to the side when they no longer required her services. But now, so many entreaties to help plan events and join committees were pouring in that she actually had to decline some of these invitations. While Marian would miss Professor Hill, she would always remember the joy and bustle he had brought to her once humdrum days.

As Marian contemplated a future without Harold in it, she felt a sudden, acute pang of distress – which she promptly muzzled. She mustn't think about such things now. Professor Hill was still in town, and he was sure to call on her that very evening. Marian's dearest memories of him were yet to be made, and she resolved to enjoy things while they lasted, to savor each exquisite moment with him until he boarded his train out of town. After all, it was lovely to be in love again – even if there was still no one in love with her.


	11. Two to Tango

As Marian sat daydreaming on the front step, a man she had never seen before strode by her house. "Hey, do the Shinns live around here somewhere?" he asked abruptly, coming to a halt.

"The Shinn home is on East Elm," Marian said politely, even though the stranger hadn't offered so much as a word of greeting. "This is West Elm."

"Aw, criminy," the stranger muttered, setting off again. Then he caught sight of the sign in the Paroos' parlor window. "Oh, so you're the piano teacher here in town! You must know about this fella Hill, forming a boys' band here."

At the mention of her love's name, Marian sprang to her feet and hurried over to the man with a smile on her face. "Yes!"

"Well, don't let that worry you no more," he said, waving a stack of papers in front of her face. "I've got the goods on him in spades, that swindling, two-bit thimblerigger! That's why I gotta see Shinn, I'm just passing through, and number eight only makes a fifteen minute water stop…" he trailed off as his eyes discovered her low neckline. "Ooh, I wish it was twenty. Sure could concentrate five minutes on you, girly-girl!"

His brazen leer made Marian wish she hadn't decided to wear her red dress that evening. Drat that she had abandoned her stubborn Iowan reserve! Influenced by Harold's amiable nature, she had been too generous in sharing her knowledge. "Who are you?" she asked the stranger coldly.

"Name's Charlie Cowell – anvil salesman!" he said proudly, dropping his suitcase. Its contents clanked loudly as they hit the ground. "But just now I've got heavier things on my mind – I've got to protect the good name of the traveling fraternity from that swindler Hill!"

"Mr. Cowell," she began, "You're making a big mistake – "

"Mistake, my old lady's corset cover!" he retorted. Marian frowned at his tasteless idiom, but he breezed on, oblivious. "That fella's been the raspberry seed in my wisdom tooth just long enough! He's spoiled Illinois for me, but he's not gonna spoil Iowa. Hey, what kind of music teacher are you, anyway, you didn't see through him? He's no more professor than – "

"I know all about that!" she replied, stung into honesty by his insult to her intelligence. Mr. Cowell raised an eyebrow at her slip of the tongue, but Marian quickly regained her composure. "Band leaders are always called 'professor,' it's an academic courtesy! He's a fine director, and his scholastic – "

"Now wait a minute!" Mr. Cowell interrupted, incredulous. "Fine director? Tell me, you heard one note of music from any band?"

Marian had to admit she had not. "Well, no, but – "

"But nothing, girly-girl!" he said dismissively. "He never formed a band in his life – and you think he ever will? Not on your previous existence!"

She tried again. "If you'll just listen to me for a minute – "

"I'd like to," he said salaciously, giving her breasts a longing look as he picked up his suitcase. "I'd like to do more than that, if I had the time…"

Charlie Cowell may have been an honest salesman attempting to uphold the decorum of his profession, but everything about him – from his tacky suit to his coarse demeanor – made Marian's skin crawl. She would not let Harold suffer the ignominy of being exposed by this vile man. _I must find some way to distract him!_ she thought desperately.

As if by divine Providence, Marian heard the faint strains of a provocative tango coming from her parlor. With a sly grin, she grabbed the salesman's arm. "Wait a minute, Mr. Cowell. You don't know me very well – yet!" Daringly, she shimmied her shoulders.

Charlie Cowell dropped his suitcase with a loud _plonk_. "Is that an invitation, girly-girl?"

"No! I mean, I don't know you – " she faltered. How on earth did a woman tempt a man further without going too far herself?

His interest waned. "Eh – I'd need more time anyway!"

For a moment, Marian was at a loss as to what to do to entice him to stay. _Think of Sirens, think of Salome dancing before King Herod! _her mind cried._ For heaven's sake, think of the heroines in any Eleanor Glyn novel!_

She ran over to Mr. Cowell and pulled him into an embrace. "What I mean is – as well as I'd like to," she simpered, stroking his shoulders.

He grinned. "Oh, there's no trouble there, girly-girl!"

Suppressing her disgust, Marian feigned interest in the snooze-worthy fact that he sold anvils for a living. As he boasted about his selling prowess, she circled him in a tantalizing tango. Mr. Cowell followed her swiftly as a fox stalking a robin, but Marian made sure to stay just out of his reach.

However, she dragged things out a bit too long – the salesman came to his senses again. "What am I doing? If I miss that train I'll lose my job, and I've got to leave word about that fella Hill!"

Marian chased after him. "Leave word with me," she said seductively.

"Not on your tintype, girly-girl!" he scoffed. "How do I know you'll deliver these letters?"

"Try me!" Steeling her nerve, Marian seized Mr. Cowell by the lapels of his suit-coat and pressed her lips to his.

The salesman responded enthusiastically to her embrace, dipping her so he could deepen their kiss. Marian squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to retch when she tasted his stale breath – the man positively reeked of tobacco!

After what seemed like an excruciating eternity, a train chugged somewhere in the distance. Relieved, Marian pushed Mr. Cowell away. "There's your train – now run for it!" she said contemptuously, darting back to her front porch.

"Why, you double-dealing little – !" He chased after her. Marian turned to deliver one of her stinging remarks, but he spoke too quickly. "Who do you think you're protecting? That guy has got a gal in every county in Illinois, and he's taken it away from every one of them – and that's a hundred and two counties! Not counting the piano teachers like _you_ he cozies up to, just to keep your mouths shut! Neither one of you have heard the last of me, girly-girl!" With that, Mr. Cowell stormed off.

Marian's triumphant expression faded into a look of stunned dismay. The salesman's words had shattered the lovely dream-bubble cocooning her from the stark, unromantic truth: She had flirted with a complete stranger to shield a faithless womanizer. Marian would have been furious if she wasn't so embarrassed and, well, _hurt_. She knew Harold was no stranger to amour, but she figured he had courted other women as chivalrously as he had her. Apparently, Harold Hill was little more than a gigolo masquerading as a gentleman. How could she have been so foolish?

The members of the school board ambled by, pausing in their rendition of _Lida Rose_ to greet her, but Marian couldn't summon the energy to engage in such idle pleasantries. _All I want is a straightforward and honest man,_ she had told her mother a few weeks ago. Perhaps she should have been more careful about what she wished for – the straightforward and honest Charlie Cowell had destroyed her happiness.

"Marian!" Mrs. Paroo's shrill voice called. The front door opened, and Marian's mother rushed out. "Marian, dear, who was you talking – why, Professor Hill!"

The librarian turned. Harold Hill was standing on their front walk, a broad smile on his handsome face. He looked positively dashing in his sleek summer suit. "Mrs. Paroo – the top of the evening!" he said cheerfully.

Shamefaced, Marian lowered her eyes as Professor Hill's gaze settled on her. "Miss Marian," he said in a more tender voice.

"You and Marian come up and set for awhile," Mrs. Paroo said with a knowing smile. "I've got some jelly on the stove."

Marian was in no mood for her mother's coy matchmaking attempts. "There's no jelly on the stove, Mama," she said crossly.

Mrs. Paroo glared at her daughter. "Well, I'll put some on!" she retorted, and hastened inside.

And Marian was alone with Professor Hill.

"Well, shall we 'set,' as your mother said?" he suggested with a good-natured gleam in his eyes.

"Really, I don't – " she demurred.

"You did ask me to call, remember?" he said insistently.

"Did I?" Marian paused, discomfited. Had she really been so forward? She seemed to recall he was the one who had requested permission to visit her at home. But it didn't matter. She had said yes, and now Harold Hill was on her front porch, hovering over her shoulder as intently as a lovesick swain. "I didn't mean anything."

"Oh, now Miss Marian, I'm not suggesting that your invitation inferred anything but academic enlightenment," he assured her.

Marian looked at him with surprised eyes.

"The Think System," he reminded her with a smile. As she turned away from his hypnotic gaze, Harold reached out and rested his hand on a porch pillar, his arm brushing her shoulders in the subtlest of embraces. "I've been by your house a time or two to try and explain it to you, but there always seem to be people around – ladies mostly, I thought?"

"Yes," she replied, trying to steady her breathing. "Mrs. Squires, and several of the other ladies…"

Harold leaned even closer. "I'm glad," he said in a low voice, his warm breath tickling her ear. "I wouldn't want anyone beating my time."

Good heavens, how could a girl keep her head when Harold Hill spoke to her in such velvety, persuasive tones? It would have been so easy to slip right into his waiting arms and meet her mouth with his in a passionate kiss. But Marian must not succumb to temptation – she would not allow herself to become just another notch on his bedpost.

Still, she couldn't help but think of the difference between the two salesmen – while Mr. Cowell had looked her up and down like a piece of meat on a butcher's block, Harold's eyes remained riveted to her face. She knew from his heated stare and stealthily encroaching embrace that he desired her as much as Mr. Cowell did, but unlike Mr. Cowell, Harold had the courtesy to keep up the pretext of polite conversation. _Even so, does it really matter?_ she asked herself sadly. Harold Hill may have wooed her in a debonair fashion and Charlie Cowell in a vulgar one, but in the end, they were both after the same thing.

So Marian said nothing, nor did she move. An awkward silence fell between them – it seemed that, at long last, the charming and clever Professor Hill had run out of things to say.


	12. Trading Rumors

For the first time ever, Harold Hill was truly annoyed with Miss Marian Paroo. After their pleasant chat in the Candy Kitchen, he had expected a much warmer reception to his evening visit. But when he greeted her, she didn't give him so much as a smile.

At first, her aloof demeanor hadn't fazed him all that much – a woman who was used to keeping men at arm's length didn't lose her reserve overnight. Besides, she had clearly anticipated his calling on her, as there was no other reason for her to be standing on her front porch, wearing such a fetching red dress. Her outfit couldn't have been for the sociable; Harold knew for a fact that all the ladies involved with planning this event had agreed to wear pink.

But when he had used a line that never failed to get a woman to turn to him with an inviting look, Marian remained mute and unresponsive. Harold had been reduced to miming her words – a new low for him – when he should have been kissing her.

If she had said something, Harold would have had a ready response. Any reply was enough to give him sufficient ammunition – there was precious little he hadn't heard from a woman. But it was difficult to sway a gal who stood stiffly as a block of wood. He could have forced Marian to reply, perhaps, but that wasn't his way. Why force what he could win by guile?

But Harold was in no mood to continue this grueling pursuit. Just when he thought he was about to cross the finish line, she had moved it once again. For him to quit after having devoted so much effort to winning her was unthinkable, but there were times when even the greatest salesman had to hang up his hat and call it day. Even if Harold was used to swallowing his pride to attain what he wanted, this was getting to be too much! He was done making a fool of himself over her.

"Well, it's evidently not the convenient evening!" Harold said, not bothering to hide his irritation. "I'll see you later at the sociable."

But he was not finished with Marian after all. The moment he heard her shoes clattering down the front steps as she rushed after him, Harold found himself turning back to hear what she had to say.

"Professor Hill! Is it true that you've had a hundred – "

When he looked questioningly at her, she faltered. "What I'm trying to say is – "

"Yes?" he prompted, resuming his spot by her side.

"I was wondering – " Marian whirled around, and suddenly they were face to face.

Harold's mind went momentarily blank. He had held Marian's hand, hovered over her shoulder, and even planted a kiss on her cheek, but he had never stood like this with her. Being so close to Marian was electrifying – when she shyly turned her head, he found himself leaning toward her, desperate to narrow the tantalizing gap she persistently maintained between them.

" – how you developed the Think System," she went on.

"The Think System?" he repeated dumbly, still mesmerized by her nearness. Then he snapped out of it. "Oh – the Think System! Well, it's quite simple, really. It's as simple as whistling. Now, no one had to develop any elaborate technique for whistling. You simply think the tune up here" – he pointed to his head – "and it comes out clearly here…"

Just as he was counting on, Marian's eyes fell on his parted lips, and she gazed at them with undisguised longing.

Harold softly whistled a few bars of _Gary, Indiana_. "Now just suppose you try this yourself," he said, moving in for a long-anticipated kiss.

With a gasp, the librarian ducked out of his embrace and retreated to the far side of the yard. "I'll take your word for it."

Harold smiled slightly as he watched her retreat. Marian sure knew how to drive a fellow crazy, with her trick of giving him come-hither eyes one minute, then backing away the next! As Harold considered her past history with Mr. Madison, he had to wonder who had really been the seducer in that situation. This Aphrodite was certainly keeping _him_ on his toes! It had been a long time since Harold had met such a worthy opponent, and he was quite enjoying the challenge.

"Why don't we all sit down?" he said airily, trying to lighten the mood.

"Are all music teachers as dense as I am?" she asked glumly.

Harold raised an eyebrow. "_All _music teachers?"

"I daresay you've met dozens," Marian said in a tone that was pregnant with suggestive meaning. "Maybe even a hundred. Are they all as fascinated as I with – the Think System?" she finished lamely.

_Why, I do believe she's jealous!_ Harold thought, gazing at her in amazement. He wondered why he hadn't realized this before. Suddenly, her standoffish behavior made complete sense.

Now that he had finally hit upon the problem, Harold knew exactly how to proceed. "Well, some more and some less," he said smoothly. "Now, one young lady had thought up the same system before I got to her town. She showed me a few refinements."

But his glib remark failed to smooth Marian's ruffled feathers. Instead, she turned away, as if his statement had confirmed the worst. "I see."

Harold decided to take a more direct approach. "Have I said something wrong?"

"Please don't let me keep you, Professor Hill," she said sadly. "You must have many more important things to do than explain the Think System to me."

"Nope, I can't think of a one. Now come on, let's sit down," he entreated, taking her by the arms.

But still, she persisted in her distress. "I must be very dull company for a man of your experience."

"Now, say, where'd you ever get an idea like that?" Harold said with a laugh – though he was starting to grow impatient. Truly, he had never met a gal as stubborn as this Iowan librarian!

"One hears rumors about traveling salesman," Marian said pointedly.

"Oh, now, Miss Marian, you mustn't believe everything you hear," he admonished. Harold couldn't think why she should be so upset about his past dalliances in the first place, especially when her own reputation was far from spotless. "Why after all, one even hears rumors about librarians!"

Marian whirled around, her eyes flashing with anger. "I presume you're referring to Uncle Maddy?"

He goggled at her. "_Uncle_ Maddy?"

"Mr. Madison – my father's best friend. No matter what _they_ say, he left that library job to me so that mother and Winthrop and I could have some security! And surely you don't believe – "

This unexpected development had thrown Harold for a quite a loop, but he was nothing if not a quick thinker. "No, no, no, of course not!" he reassured her. "But that's just what I'm saying! Now why do you suppose people start those rumors?"

"Narrow-mindedness, jealousy!" she snapped. "Jealousy mostly, I guess."

"Exactly!" he said vehemently. "And jealousy mostly starts rumors about traveling salesmen!"

Finally, he had gotten through to her. The brooding look in Marian's eyes vanished, replaced by a look of relieved wonder. She stood straighter, as if a great burden had fallen from her shoulders.

After a brief pause, Harold deemed it safe to approach. Perhaps he should have left well enough alone, but he needed to know who had put such ideas in her head in the first place. When he found out, he'd settle their hash, but good!

"What have you heard?" he ventured, leaning over her shoulder.

"Oh, nothing about you personally, it's just – you know, generally," she replied.

_Oh, my dear little librarian, you really are a terrible liar,_ Harold thought, traces of a smile playing around his lips. He'd get the truth out of her, one way or another. "Well, what have you heard, generally?"

It almost worked. "Just that – " Marian began, but when their eyes met, she changed tack. "But of course! It stands to reason that disappointment and jealousy can lead to – well, take you, for instance. Your attentions to customers and, well, teachers, might easily be misconstrued, mightn't they? I mean now, honestly, mightn't they?"

Harold tried to steer the conversation back on course, but she kept going, talking as spiritedly as she had that afternoon in the Candy Kitchen. "And as you say, if a salesman or somebody were jealous, why, they could be downright lies now, couldn't they?"

"What could?" Harold persisted. If he could just get her to say exactly what she had heard about him…

But Marian was too clever to be led into a point-blank confession. "Rumors and things!"

Knowing he wasn't going to get any more information out of her than he already had, Harold decided the best thing to do for the time being was to agree with her and move on. "Why, of course!"

But she still wasn't done. "It just goes to show, you should never believe everything you hear, doesn't it? I mean, if you just discuss things!"

_Yes, my dear, but you still haven't let a single cat out of the bag,_ he thought wryly. But as much fun as it had been, Harold was finished with bantering. The hour was growing late, and there were other, more pleasurable activities he wished to engage in with her. "Miss Marian, I would be delighted to discuss anything in the world with you. But couldn't we do it sitting down? You do sit? Your knees bend and all?"

Marian smiled at him for the first time that evening. "We could sit on the steps, I suppose," she relented.

While that might have been nice, Marian's front steps were a little too public for the heavy canoodling he had in mind. "We could also sit on the large hollow log over at the footbridge."

Her smile faded. "Oh no, I couldn't do that – I've never been to the footbridge with a man in my life!"

"Just to talk," he promised – though the words rang false even to his own ears.

For one brief, shining moment, Marian looked as if she would say yes, but then she turned away. "I have to dress for the sociable."

Harold wasn't about to let her escape now. As she hastened away, he followed, catching up to her just before she reached her front door. Marian turned immediately at his light touch on her arm, and they were once again standing face to face. Harold felt the same breathless rush as he looked into her eyes.

"Then meet me there in fifteen minutes," he entreated, desire making his tone much more serious than he had intended.

"Oh no, I can't," she said regretfully. "Some other time, maybe tomorrow. Please…"

It was maddening, the way she kept resisting him. The cold, calculating part of Harold suggested he might want to take her at her word. Now that he had discovered she wasn't the sadder-but-wiser girl after all, it cast a whole new light on her behavior. Harold had thought Marian's coy, yet alluring, demeanor was an elaborate ruse to lead him on, but now he saw that her behavior was, in truth, motivated by a pure and honest heart that felt things deeply. Marian had not purposely set out to captivate him, but she had done so all the same, simply by being who she was.

_Yes_, he reflected, _it would be much safer to quit now, while I still can._ But Harold had always exhilarated in taking risks; he had built his entire livelihood on it.

"Oh, my dear little librarian," he scolded gently. "You pile up enough tomorrows, and you'll find you've collected nothing but a lot of empty yesterdays. I don't know about you, but I'd like to make today worth remembering."

"Ohh," she breathed. "So would I."

"The footbridge. Fifteen minutes," Harold reiterated.

Marian gave him a dreamy look. "Fifteen minutes."

And Harold knew he had finally crossed the finish line. Now all that remained was to collect his hard-earned trophy.


	13. Till There Was You

It had taken the full force of Marian's considerable will to resist going right to the footbridge with Professor Hill when he ushered her off the Madison Park pavilion. It wasn't the first time she had danced the Shipoopi with him; he had shown her and the teens the new step in the gymnasium a few afternoons ago. But things had not been this heated between the two of them – Harold danced with her as if they were the only two people on the pavilion, his desire shamelessly on display before the crowd.

When the song ended and she sat on his knee, flushed and breathless from her exertions, Marian had turned to see Harold looking at her like he wanted to take her in his arms right then and there. And if he had done this, she wasn't sure she could have refused him, as much as she blushed to think of engaging in such impropriety.

Marian couldn't go to a secluded area with Professor Hill when she was in such a vulnerable state; she needed time to collect her muddled thoughts. "Professor Hill, I – " she protested as he pulled her along by the arm.

"Now, this is no place to talk," Harold chided. He stopped and looked at her. "You're not going to back down?"

"Oh no! No, I'll come, but" – her mind scrambled for an excuse – "I promised mother and Winthrop to have a plate of cream with them. You go along; I'll meet you there."

"Fifteen minutes," he said, giving her _that_ look again; the one that made her feel weak at the knees.

"Fifteen minutes," Marian agreed breathlessly.

XXX

"What, back from the footbridge already?" Mrs. Paroo asked when she saw her daughter.

"I haven't gone yet; I told him I'd meet him in fifteen minutes," Marian said, her voice shaking slightly. "But I don't know if I will go, after all."

Mrs. Paroo motioned for Winthrop to go see Amaryllis, who had been eying him from across the pavilion. Once the boy had scampered off, she turned to Marian, who braced herself for an argument. "Now, Mama – "

But Mrs. Paroo gave her an understanding look. "I thought things might come to that."

Marian's eyes widened. "How did you know?"

"A mother always knows, darling," Mrs. Paroo said fondly. Her expression grew nostalgic. "You know, your father had a wife before me."

"He did?" Marian said curiously. "Why didn't you ever tell me this?"

"The subject never came up," Mrs. Paroo replied with a shrug.

"Why are you telling me now, then?" she asked, exasperated.

"Because I know what love can do to a man. Your father loved his first wife dearly, and when she died so young, he swore he'd never marry again. But then he met me – and the rest was history, as they might say in one of your li'berry books."

Marian gaped at her mother. "I think my situation is just a _little_ different."

"Are you saying I don't recognize a man in love with my daughter when I see one?" Mrs. Paroo challenged. "I've had Professor Hill pegged since the day he stopped by the house to sign Winthrop up for the band. Goodness knows he's the only man who's ever had the spunk to keep after you!"

"Well…" Marian said skeptically, not knowing where to begin. How could she explain to her mother that a traveling salesman didn't always have love on his mind when he pursued a young woman?

But Mrs. Paroo was shrewder than Marian had allowed. "Harold Hill _is_ in love with you, me girl – whether he knows it or not. Now your fifteen minutes is up. You'd better get going, before you miss your chance!"

XXX

So Marian went to the footbridge. Even though she was still apprehensive about what might happen if she allowed herself to be alone with Harold, she knew if she didn't see this through, she'd regret it for the rest of her life.

Marian had nearly reached her destination when she glimpsed him waving a stick like a conductor's baton. He looked so endearing that she halted, not wanting to spoil this charming tableau. As Marian watched Harold mime leading a band, her heart glowed with pride. She had made the right decision.

But then, with an uncharacteristically glum look on his face, Professor Hill broke the stick in half and tossed it into the creek. Marian longed to comfort him, but she didn't want to embarrass him by revealing what she had seen. As she tried to think how best to announce her presence, Harold turned and caught sight of her.

"Miss Marian – you're late!" he teased, wagging a finger at her.

With a smile, she joined him on the footbridge. "You said fifteen minutes."

"No, I didn't mean that kind of late. I meant – well, I'd say about twenty-six years late. It took you all this time to get to the footbridge with a fellow," he marveled.

"If you want to know the truth, it was almost longer," she admitted.

"Oh?" he stammered, sounding as if his voice had caught in his throat.

"Halfway here, I nearly turned back." Too embarrassed to look at Harold, she focused her gaze on the footbridge railing. "I suppose I'm not the first person to discover a girl doesn't think too clearly when under the spell of your salesmanship."

"Oh, now Miss Marian, you surely don't think I've been trying to sell you anything?" he asked with a voice full of the utmost sincerity.

To the very last moment, Harold Hill was the consummate salesman. But that no longer mattered – she had seen the generous heart beneath his gilded exterior. After what he had done for River City, and for her, he deserved to know the truth.

"Oh no!" Marian said earnestly. "You've given me something. That's why I had to come."

Harold's suave salesman smile faded, and he looked at her with a perplexed expression. "I don't recall giving you – "

Marian beamed at him. "Oh yes, something beautiful. That's why I came. And I'm so glad. Oh – please don't be afraid I expect too much more," she said when he balked. "One can't expect a traveling salesman to stay put. I know there have been many ports of call, and there'll be many more. Still, I can be grateful for what you've left behind, for me."

Professor Hill looked genuinely alarmed. "Marian – "

Placing her hand gently over his mouth, she confessed everything.

_There were bells on the hill, but I never heard them ringing  
No, I never heard them at all – till there was you  
There were birds in the sky, but I never saw them winging  
No, I never saw them at all – till there was you  
And there was music, and there were wonderful roses, they tell me  
In sweet fragrant meadows of dawn and dew  
There was love, all around, but I never heard it singing  
No, I never heard it all – till there was you_

Marian saw something stir in Harold's eyes – something true. As he regarded her from the other end of the footbridge, she recognized in his gaze the same love she felt radiating from her own expression. Her mother had been right. And even though there could be no future for them, it was enough to know that Harold's feelings for her went deeper than superficial desire.

So Marian finally surrendered, going to him as eagerly as he came to her. They met in the middle of the footbridge, Harold catching her in a warm embrace. He pulled back a little and sought Marian's eyes with his. For a brief, wonderful moment, they just looked at each other, before joining their lips together in an intensely passionate kiss.

For the first time in her life, Marian tasted pure delight. Being with Harold was just as wonderful as she had imagined. No, it was even better: She had never dreamed he would look at her with such adoration, or that she could feel so safe in his arms. Harold was indeed the gentleman she had always suspected him to be – not once did his hands stray anywhere untoward. He simply held her like he never wanted to let her go. And she never wanted him to – Marian clung as tightly to Harold as he did to her.

But all too soon, he ended their embrace. "Marian," Professor Hill began, taking her hands in his, "there are a lot of things that you don't know about me – "

XXX

_A/N – I included the extra scene with Mrs. Paroo because I always wondered what she was thinking, encouraging her daughter to go after a traveling salesman with the "gift of the Blarney." This seemed like a good place to explore that, and it also served to illustrate how Marian almost turned back from meeting Harold at the footbridge._


	14. Who's Selling Whom?

Marian Paroo sure knew how to trouble a fellow's conscience. Here Harold Hill was all set to engage in some good old-fashioned heavy petting, and she had to go and pull the rug out from under him. He had always prided himself on being able to predict the behavior of women, to know what they were going to say and have an answer prepared before they even opened their mouths. But somehow, Marian always managed to throw him off balance. There were occasions when he even found himself struggling to get a word in edgewise – Miss Paroo could be pretty forceful when she wanted to be!

Normally, he would have wasted no time in seducing Marian as soon as he had gotten her alone. But as she stood shyly next to him, half turned from his smoldering gaze, he was struck by the odd sensation that he wanted to protect her instead, to shield her from a cruel world that, after having feasted on her innocence, would merely wipe away the crumbs and proceed to the next blushing maiden. When Marian confessed her initial reticence in coming to the footbridge, Harold felt honored she had trusted him not to take advantage of her physical or emotional well-being, and he wanted – for once – to live up to her faith in him.

He also attributed his hesitation to the fact he still wasn't entirely used to the situation: A woman who had distrusted him so much at first had not only agreed to meet him alone, she was freely and gladly revealing the true depth of love in her heart. As Marian spoke, Harold wanted to tell her not to waste such beautiful sentiments on a scoundrel like him; she deserved a lot better than he could give her. Still, the very least Harold could do was refrain from sullying her with his reckless debauchery. As hard as it was for him to resist, he resolved he wasn't going to be the one who dulled that pristine sparkle in her eyes and smile.

But when Marian fell silent and gazed at him with those bewitching eyes of hers, Harold had to go to her and take her in his arms. At first, they had simply hugged. But then he found himself longing for the breathless rush of standing face to face with her, so he pulled back a little. Ignoring the urgent voice warning him to put a stop to this right now, that he was getting in too deep, Harold surrendered to temptation and kissed Marian's inviting lips.

It was by far the chastest kiss he had ever shared with a woman, but his heart pounded and his pulse raced just the same. Harold knew that Marian had caught him, like a jackrabbit in a snare. Sure, there had been a couple close calls with gals in the past – a man who insisted on touching hot frying pans with his bare hands couldn't expect not to get a little burned every now and then – but in the end he had always been able to walk away without a backward glance.

But no woman had ever inspired such intense feelings within him as Marian did; he was almost overwhelmed by his desire. Harold had to let her go – and quickly – before things passed the point of no return. Somehow, he found the strength to extricate himself from her warm embrace.

"Marian," he began, "there are a lot of things that you don't know about me – "

"I'm not asking," she said, leaning in for another kiss. Harold heard in her voice the same frustrated longing he was currently experiencing.

If that pebble hadn't landed next them, who knows what might have happened. Harold turned and caught sight of Marcellus waving frantically at him from behind a bush.

Though Harold was annoyed at the interruption, he figured it was just as well. No woman ever really loved him, once she had discovered the truth. Even though he had never let that bother him for long, he still felt an uncomfortable twinge when he recalled the tears, the angry words, the warm looks of love turned to expressions of deepest loathing.

"Excuse me," Harold said, patting Marian's hand. "I'm expecting a telegram from Rudi Frimml. This could be it."

"Say, who's the salesman around here?" Marcellus demanded to know as soon as Harold had reached him. "Looks like she's selling – and you're buying!"

"I told you I had to keep her off balance, didn't I?" Harold said defensively. Irritated, he wondered how long Marcellus had been standing there, watching them. Couldn't the man get his jollies off somewhere else? Ethel Toffelmier would have been happy enough to oblige, Harold was sure!

Marcellus looked Marian over. "Well, she's so off balance now, you can't tell her from a catboat in a hurricane," he concluded – though his skeptical tone indicated he doubted the competency of the great Professor Hill.

Harold ignored this. "I've got to keep her that way until those uniforms arrive."

"They're here, and the kids are in 'em," Marcellus announced, handing him a wad of cash. "Tommy passed out the uniforms and collected most of the money. Now he's trying to keep the kids together, pretending there's a band practice down at the lumberyard."

"What time does the freight train go?" Harold asked, hiding his disappointment that the scheme had come to fruition sooner than he had expected.

"Nine forty from the junction," his shill replied promptly.

Harold broke into a grin and glanced back at Marian. "Well, it isn't even eight thirty yet!"

"Listen, Greg, you'd better cheese it now, while you can!" Marcellus scolded.

"Now listen, Buster Brown," Harold said warningly. "I came up through the ranks on this skirmish, and I'm not resigning without my commission. Now go on, beat it!"

The old, admiring smile spread across Marcellus' face, and he scuttled off. _That's one down_, Harold thought triumphantly. As he walked back to the footbridge, he surveyed the librarian carefully. Marian didn't appear to have heard anything; she gazed serenely at the water, looking lovely and innocent as a rose in springtime.

But thanks to Marcellus' interruption, Harold had his head back on straight again. Marian had almost caught him, that enchanting little minx, and he wasn't going to let it happen again.

"Never a peaceful moment in the music business!" Harold declared, reclaiming his place in the librarian's welcoming arms. He let his hands wander a bit lower down her waist. "Now, where were we…"

"You were going to tell me what I don't know about you," she reminded him with a gleam in her eye.

Harold grinned, unable to believe he had really been about to do something that stupid. "Yeah… but we don't have to go into that right now, do we?" he said with all the charm he could muster.

Marian eased out of his embrace. "Of course not," she said softly. "We never have to go into that, Harold."

Harold knew from her sly smile that she had caught on to the drift of the conversation, but he also knew that – as always – she meant every word she said. "Madam Librarian, you are a lady from the ground up," he replied, unable to contain his admiration.

"The librarian hasn't felt much like doing research lately," Marian said, giving him a coy, sideways glance that made him chuckle. Then she turned and looked him directly in the eye. "But she did plenty of it when you first came here."

Harold was starting to feel off balance again. "Oh?" he said, trying unsuccessfully to keep his tone light. "About what?"

"Oh, about Professor Harold Hill, Gary Conservatory of Music, Gold Medal Class of Aught-Five." As he frantically tried to think what misstep he had made in saying such a thing, she gave him a pitying smile and continued, "Harold, there wasn't any Gary Conservatory in aught-five – "

"Well, there most certainly – " he interrupted, refusing to be caught in an outright lie.

As usual, Marian breezed over his protests. " – because the town wasn't even built until aught-six!"

Once again, Harold was at a loss for words. _How does she do that? _he thought as he waited, powerless, to see what her next move would be.

Thankfully, Marian let the matter drop. "Come on, walk me home," she said, taking him by the hand. "I have to get something to draw around my shoulders."

At first, Harold was too dumbfounded to do anything but follow her. But then he stopped and tugged her hand until she had turned to face him. "Well, you knew all the time!" he said, taken aback. Even though he was supposed to be the swindler, Harold couldn't help but feel like he was the one who had been tricked.

"I've known since three days after you came here," Marian admitted, looking at him with those wide, honest eyes of hers. She pulled a folded-up piece of paper from her bodice and handed it to him. "I tore this out of the _Indiana Journal_. I meant to use it against you, but now I give it to you, with all my heart."

Harold looked back and forth from the page to Marian, still unable to wrap his head around the situation. "Yeah, but if you knew – "

When she silenced him with a brief but fervent kiss, Harold knew he'd never escape from Marian again – nor did he ever want to. Placing the torn page in his pants pocket, he escorted the librarian home.


	15. Goodnight, My Someone

Neither Harold nor Marian said anything on their walk back to her house. There was no need for Harold to fill the silence, nothing he had to sell. This was a rare luxury for him, one that he had only been able to engage in during his solitary train trips as he fled from one town to the next. Around Marian, Harold could simply be himself.

Not that he knew who that was, exactly. For almost as long as he could remember, Harold had assumed one persona or another, discarding it when it no longer suited his purposes. The boisterous and charming Professor Harold Hill had been one of his most lucrative characters, and the most fun to play. Even he had been mesmerized by this band leader extraordinaire – Harold no longer referred himself to any other name, not even in the privacy of his own mind. Marcellus' enthusiastic greeting of "Gregory!" – another alias – had been a bit jarring.

"I'll only be a minute," Marian promised with a smile when they reached her front door.

_You'd better – or I'll have to come in after you!_ he thought mischievously. Once upon a time, Harold would have said this out loud. But now, he just winked and wagged his finger at her.

After Marian had gone into the house, Harold settled himself against a fencepost to await her return. Giddy as a schoolboy, he started to whistle, which soon turned into jovial singing: "While a hundred and ten cornets played the air! Then I modestly took my place, as the one and only bass, and I oompahed up and down the square – "

Marian's sweet voice faintly echoed from inside the Paroo home. "Good night, my someone, good night, my love…"

Grinning at Marian's silhouette in the window, Harold continued: " – with a hundred and ten cornets right behind!"

"… Our star is shining its brightest light…"

" – there were horns of every shape and…" Harold trailed off. He took the torn page from the _Indiana Journal_ out of his pocket and looked at it. Solid proof he was a fraud, and Marian had held it to her breast like a love letter. Even knowing what he was, she had seen something in him – something she deemed so wonderful that it was worth covering up the truth.

Suddenly, Harold didn't feel like singing the hymn of a charlatan and a pretender. "Sweet dreams be yours, dear, if dreams there be…" The words fell softly, uncertainly from his lips.

"While a hundred and ten cornets played the air!" Marian's exuberant voice rang out.

Spellbound by this strange, swift onrush of emotion, Harold didn't even hear her. "I wish I may, and I wish I might, now goodnight, my someone… goodnight."

As hard as he had tried to resist, evade and explain it away with terms like _tempted_, _bewitched_ and _ensnared_, the moment of reckoning had come at last:

_I am in love with Marian Paroo. Utterly, hopelessly, desperately in love._

This realization didn't burst forth with brilliant fanfare like a seventy-piece orchestra, as Harold would have expected, but simply announced itself, as if it had been there all along. Love had stolen into his soul as gently and gradually as a fog rolling over the hills; while Harold had schemed and plotted to weave webs around Marian, love had been quietly entwining him in its inexorable Gordian knot.

Marcellus ran up to him, suitcase in hand. "Let's go, Greg, I've got the flivver in the alley, all cranked up!"

Everything was happening too fast for him to comprehend; Harold stood there numbly, looking back at the Paroo home. The room Marian had been standing in was now dark. Where was she?

His shill tugged on his arm. "They're onto you already! There's a crazy anvil salesman running all over town, spilling everything! Come on!"

When Marcellus took off running, Harold didn't follow. Even if he lost crucial seconds he needed to make his escape, he could not leave without saying a proper goodbye to Marian.

Mrs. Paroo came hurrying around the corner. "You'd better run, Professor! They're talking about tar and feathers!"

Finally, the front door opened and Marian came outside. "What is it, Mama?" she asked worriedly.

"I've been looking all over for Winthrop," Mrs. Paroo replied, stopping to catch her breath. "He's run away – maybe he's in his room!" The woman disappeared into the house, not even bothering to close the door behind her.

Marian ran over to Harold, a pained look in her eyes.

It was cruel their time together was suddenly cut so short. Harold knew he was only getting what he deserved, but he regretted that Marian had to suffer the same heartbreak. As he gazed longingly at the woman he loved, trying to cement her image in his mind before they parted forever, Harold couldn't help but smile a little bit at his foolishness. He was as bad as Romeo, as Lancelot, as Tristan, and every other man who had ever sacrificed everything for the love of a woman. But if he was given the chance to go back to the first day he arrived in River City, he wouldn't have done a single thing differently.

There was so much Harold wanted to tell Marian, but there wasn't enough time to say it all. "It's not often that I find myself at a loss for words, but – "

Even in her distress, Marian demonstrated her unselfish heart. "It's all right, don't you know that? You don't owe me a word – not a word! Now hurry, please!"

Earlier that evening, Marian had profusely thanked him for what he had given her, but Harold thought she had been the generous one. As fervent as her declarations of love had been, she hadn't asked him for a single thing, not even the courtesy of being loved in return. Now she was letting him go; her final gift to him. More than that – she was begging him to flee.

But Harold was tired of running. Even when Marcellus came back and frantically shouted for him to get going, he didn't move. Nothing could budge Harold from Marian's arms – not even the sound of an approaching angry mob.

Marcellus scurried around the corner to divert them. "He's not around here, folks! Let's try down by the creamery!"

Despondent as he was, Harold couldn't help but grin. _Good old Marcellus, loyal until the bitter end._

_Please_, Marian's eyes pleaded. _Don't do this._

_I have to_, he told her.

As the two of them stood there, at an impasse, a little boy with ginger-colored hair came barreling down the street toward the Paroo house.

"Winthrop!" Marian cried, running to her brother.

But Harold was quicker. "Hold on a minute, son!"

"I'm not your son. Leave me go!" the boy said furiously, trying to wriggle out of Harold's arms.

"No, not until I talk to you a minute," Harold insisted.

Winthrop glared at him. "I won't listen – you wouldn't tell the truth, anyway!"

"I would too," Harold insisted.

"Would not!"

"I would, tot! Tell you anything you want to know."

Winthrop gave him a frank, direct look. "Can you lead a band?"

Harold paused. "No," he admitted.

In Winthrop's tear-stained expression, Harold saw the sorrow and disillusionment of every child he had ever swindled. As he gazed repentantly at the kid who had once loved him like a father, he reflected that no Biblical hell of fire and brimstone could have inflicted a worse punishment than this. And it didn't help matters that the boy had his sister's eyes!

But Winthrop wasn't done with him yet. "Are you a big liar?"

This time, Harold's answer was faster. "Yes."

"Are you a dirty, rotten crook?"

"Yes," Harold said again, amazed at how easy it was to tell the truth once he had begun.

Winthrop's face crumpled. "Then leave me go, you big liar!"

Most men might have been too ashamed to do anything but comply with such a demand, but not Harold. He wasn't the type to go slinking off to the corner when he was berated; he took his lumps with as much flair as he did everything else. "Well, what's the matter? You wanted the truth, didn't you? Now look, I'm bigger than you are, and you're going to stand there and get it all, so you might just as well stop wiggling!"

Winthrop scowled, but did as he was told.

"Now," Harold began, straightening the little boy's rumpled collar, "there are two things you're entitled to know. One, you're a wonderful kid. I've thought so from the first! That's why I wanted you in the band, so you'd stop moping around and feeling sorry for yourself!"

"What band?" Winthrop asked coldly.

In reply, Harold told him the only principle he had ever lived by, the one saving grace that had always allowed him to walk through life with a smile on his face and a spring in his step, despite leaving a swath of destruction wherever he went: "I always think there's a band, kid."

Even though Winthrop might have been a little too young to fully understand the meaning, Harold's words seemed to resonate with him. "What's the other thing I'm entitled to know?" the boy asked, his voice calmer.

Harold glanced at Marian, who was gazing at him with a warm, wistful expression. He was immediately reminded of their passionate tryst at the footbridge. "Well, the other thing's none of your business, come to think of it!"

He had spoken in a sharper tone than he had meant to; Winthrop's face crumpled again. "I wish you'd never come to River City!"

Beaten at last, Harold could find nothing more to say.

Marian spoke. "No, you don't, Winthrop."

The boy turned to her with an incredulous expression. "Sister? You believe him?"

She knelt down and looked Winthrop in the eye. "I believe everything he ever said."

It was amazing how regret kept deepening and deepening, once it had got hold of a man. Just when Harold thought he couldn't feel any worse, Marian had to go and defend his actions to a boy who had – quite rightly – condemned him for the criminal he was.

"But he promised us!" Winthrop insisted.

"I know what he promised us," she said firmly. "And it all happened, just like he said: the lights, the colors, the cymbals and the flags!"

"Where was all that?"

"In the way every kid in town walked around all summer, and looked and acted – especially you," she explained. "And the parents, too. Does Mama wish he'd never come to River City?"

"Well, you do, don't you?" Winthrop asked – though the anger had gone out of his voice.

Marian's eyes grew sad. "No, Winthrop."

_She would have made a wonderful mother_, Harold thought wistfully.

Marian looked up. "You'd better go, Harold. Please!"

"Go on, Professor," the boy urged in a forlorn voice, brushing by Harold in a half-hearted hug as he walked toward the front door. "Hurry up…"

But Harold had made his decision. "I can't go, Winthrop."

Winthrop stopped and looked back. "Why not?"

_Romeo, Lancelot, Tristan – you'd better go ahead and save a spot for me at the table_, Harold thought wryly, before saying the words that would seal his fate for good: "Well, for the first time in my life, I got my foot caught in the door."

Turning to Marian, Harold beheld a sight that melted even his jaded heart: Marian's eyes glowing with the quiet joy of a woman who knew that, at long last, her dreams had come true. The last tiny speck of apprehension that had been lingering in the pit of Harold's stomach disappeared. No matter what happened, he would never regret his choice.

Harold took Marian's hands in his and helped her back to her feet.

_There was love, all around, but I never heard it singing  
No, I never heard it at all – _

Marian threw her arms around him, and he held her tight. "… till there was you," he whispered into her hair.

So Harold Hill did the only decent thing he had ever done in his entire misspent life: He stayed and embraced the woman he loved, until the River City constable and his posse came to take him away.


End file.
